Moments
by ce'bronne
Summary: A retelling of BBC's Sherlock. Some canon divergence as well as slightly AU. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue: Mycroft's letter

_Authors note: This is my first ever fanfiction so please bear with me, I'm still figuring this out. Story is un-beta'd so all faults lie with me, I hope I caught all grammatical and punctuational errors. If anyone reads this and wishes to beta drop me a line. _

_Also I Do Not own Sherlock, related characters and or plotlines. Etc., etc., etc., and so forth._

Mycroft,

Well my friend, if you're reading this then I am dead. I have left instructions that if events do not go according to plan then you should receive this letter and the enclosed flash drive. I suppose you could consider this my last will and testament, so to speak. With that in mind I guess I should just go ahead and confess, I have always loved you. Yes I can hear you now blah blah blah sentiment blah blah blah... and yet that doesn't change the fact that I ...can't keep up this charade... oh how I wish I could see your face. I'd apologize but I wouldn't mean it, I truly enjoy tweaking your nose.

However in all seriousness, the flash drive does contain the debriefing reports from my latest assignment, as well as some new found intelligence that I thought you might be interested in. I'll give you the highlights seeing as how much you dislike reading my reports:

1. James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran are no more.

2. I've dug up the roots of Moriarty's network. You might remind Sherlock next time that cutting the branches only prunes the tree, it won't kill it.

3. More importantly, I'm retiring.

Yes, Mycroft, Retiring. Don't bother sending anyone looking for me... they won't be returning if you do. I'm confident between the two Holmes brothers you will manage to deduce why I've chosen now to retire.

With that said please take care of yourself. Give my best to Sherlock, John, and Mary.

Sandrine


	2. The sniper and the criminal

_Author's note: I would like to give a shout out to my wonderful Beta thischarmingpsycopath. If you haven't read her stories yet, I'd take the time to do so if I were you. It'll be well worth your time. Anyway onto the disclaimer:_

_I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters . etc. and so forth._

_Anyway I hope you enjoy. _

The sniper's needs were simple really. An empty rooftop. A bolt action Remington M24 loaded with .300 magnum cartridges. Oh, and a target. Nothing made Sebastian Moran happier.

Of course it wasn't really the killing that made the sniper happy. It was the chase. Finding and tracking down an elusive target made Sebastian feel alive.

But killing; killing was something to be done in the blank white static-filled room of Sebastian's mind. Where the mess of it couldn't touch the sniper.

It had taken only a few short months in the sniper profession for Sebastian to realize the necessity of the static emptiness. The room kept the assassin free from the emotional tangle killing wrought within. The job just couldn't be done when you were an emotional mess.

And so... when the chase was done, when the hunter flushed out the prey; Sebastian entered that corner room of white. Click. Fwiip.

One more name to add to the list.

James Moriarty stood with Kontar Gul, an Afghani opium dealer and two of his men. They were currently negotiating for Jim's assistance in dealing with his Burman counterpart. Or rather James was dictating the terms of said assistance and Kontar was nodding silently in agreement.

"Oh and do make sure that my money is wired into the account I've given you by the end of today. It won't be pleasant for you if its not" smirked James, his lilt barely noticeable. "Then again, it has been Boring recently... I could use some entertainment." At this Kontar visibly paled.

"I assure you, you'll have your money within the hour." Kontar ground out, right before a rose of blood blossomed upon his breast. With a grunt he slumped to the floor of the warehouse followed quickly by his henchmen, each sporting a similar circle of crimson.

James looked upon the growing pool of blood and growled in anger. "Weeks of planning rendered useless" He muttered to himself. " Somebody's going to pay." he finished in a singsong voice. Pulling out his cell, he quickly dialed. " Kontar is dead. Someone has just cost me several hundred thousand pounds. I want to know who. FIND them."

Barely glancing at his former client, James exited the warehouse. Planning his next move with a whistle and a smile on his lips. At the very least it seemed as if he wasn't going to be bored for a while.


	3. An official mess

A/n : Want to start off by thanking my absolutely wonderful beta thischarmingpsycopath, I don't know what I'd do without her input. So thank you. Also many thanks to those who have followed/favorite/reviewed/or even just read, without you there is no point to writing. And finally the usual disclaimer I do not own Sherlock or it's characters, then again neither does the BBC. After all, all stories are Anansi's.

Sandrine Dumorte was lounging around Mycroft Holmes's office. Drinking a cup of tea as she waited for the man himself to turn up. Idly she wondered what the hell was taking him so long. Mycroft knew better than to leave her cooling her heels. She hated to be left with nothing to keep her occupied. Knowing Mycroft, the man was probably taking his time just to irritate her. "Well," she thought "two can play at that game." Getting up, Sandrine proceeded to spend a very enjoyable hour rearranging Mycroft's possessions.

Dusting off her hands, Sandrine looked around the room in satisfaction. "Let that perfectionistic personality of his deal with this mess." she laughed to herself.

And what a mess it was. The bookshelves had their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor. The desk drawers were taken from their home and emptied also before being stacked against the far wall, creating a rough pyramid. The pens, papers and other paraphernalia created an overflowing mountain on the seat of the swivel desk chair which now rested in the center of the room. Only the filing cabinets alone made it out unscathed. Picking their locks was not worth the effort in Sandrine's mind for what was only a minor prank.

Downing the last of her tea, Sandrine turned towards the sound of the door handle being turned, her hand automatically going to the small of her back where her gun resided.

Mycroft stepped into his office with a look of disdain for the disorder found there. "It is just me. Unless you were planning on shooting me, might I suggest you put that away?" He questioned with a pointed look at the Firestar 9 mm that was aimed for his head.

Shaking her head Sandrine holstered her weapon. "I'd apologize, but I don't see any reason to be sorry. Being quick on the draw is what keeps me alive most days."

"Anyway Mikey, how about we discuss why I'm here?"

"How many times must we go over this? Mycroft. Mycroft, not Mikey. And as for the reason I asked you here, I need you to debrief me on the status of your current assignment. Since you refuse to turn in concise reports at regular intervals, calling you here seems to be the only semi-reliable way to get any useful information from you." Mycroft answered her with a huff.

"Aww. If I didn't know better I'd say you were worried about little ole me. Isn't that sweet? I didn't realize you cared that much Mikey." Sandrine teased Mycroft with a little laugh. "Anyway, I did send in a report, what was it two weeks ago?" she asked knowing full well it had been at least six months since she last filed a physical report. After all, why waste valuable time writing when she could just tell Mycroft?

"Seven and half months actually. And even then I wouldn't call it a report. It was completely incomprehensible. It consisted of nothing more than.."

"Written in code" Sandrine interjected with a barely contained smile.

"...Mikey loves Rinee. In multiple languages. Repeatedly." Mycroft finished."Pray tell. How was that code?"

"Still haven't figured it out yet? I'd wager that's driving you mad isn't it?" Sandrine taunted lightly. "Fine." she sighed, failing to get a rise out of him. "I guess I've held it over your head long enough. Just look at the spaces and punctuation. It's morse code. Double space between words for long. Single space for short. Period indicates end of sequence. For instance; double double double period equals S. Simple as that really."

"If I had to guess, I'd say you only overlooked it because you were flustered. Gods forbid anyone think you suffered from sentiment." she said with an over exaggerated shudder at the word sentiment.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Not that this interlude hasn't been entertaining but lets steer this conversation back onto course shall we?"

With a look around her at the disheveled room, Sandrine replied "I'll let you change the subject for now Mycroft. But only if we can have a change in venue. There's no place to sit down in here."

"And who is responsible for that I wonder?" Mycroft stated dryly. "Although you do have a point." Mycroft added as he looked around himself at his office, "Where would you suggest we adjourn to?"

"I know the perfect place. Come with me love." She said as she took his hand and pulled him from the room. In her haste to leave Sandrine barely avoided colliding into Mycroft's assistant Anthea. The lovely dark haired woman, anticipating her boss's needs, stood at the ready with the duo's jackets and Mycroft's umbrella.

"Oh I'm sorry Anthea, here let me take that." Reaching for her and Mycroft's things, " I'm afraid I left the office in a bit of a mess."

"Not to worry, Miss Dumorte." Anthea said with a slight frown before turning to Mycroft, "I'll see to it that it's set to rights before your return. I've got a car waiting for you out front..."

"No need for that, where we're going is within walking distance" Sandrine interrupted before Mycroft could get it into his head about taking the car. "Besides it'll do his pompousness here some good to stretch his legs. Sitting behind a desk all day must get tiresome I would imagine." And with that she promptly started tugging Mycroft towards the exit.


	4. A new assignment

**A/N: Many thanks to my godsend of a Beta; Thischarmingpsycopath. I have no idea what I'd do without her. Also thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read. Hope you enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think.**

Mycroft sat in the well appointed Italian restaurant silently fuming. Ten minutes into Sandrine's little "jaunt" it had started raining. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't have proven a problem, London weather being what it was Mycroft always carried an umbrella. But thanks to the insufferable woman currently sitting across from him, his umbrella was now in the possession of a young tourist couple from America. Meaning he was now soaked. A state he found rather untenable.

And just to add insult to injury, the bloody woman had the gall to be laughing at him. "Had you just let us take the car, we wouldn't currently be in this predicament" he told her, letting some of his ire show. "Really Mikey, lighten up. It was a bit of fun. And the state of your clothes is hardly worth getting worked up over." Sandrine replied, smiling brightly. "Besides, we'll be dry by the time we leave. Our coats took the brunt of the storm."

Mycroft debated whether it would be worth the satisfaction of starting an argument, or if he should just table the topic for now, after all he did have a more pressing matter to discuss with Sandrine. Her idea of fun aside, he couldn't afford to risk her leaving. And leave she would. Damn woman never admitted she was in the wrong, she would simply stop arguing and leave. An irritating habit to say the least.

Fortunately, the matter was decided for him as the waiter came up to take their orders and fill their drinks. Handing over their menus Mycroft proceeded to order for both of them. An order of shrimp alfredo for himself and the chicken parmesan for her.

Thanking the man as he walked away, he turned his attention back to Sandrine, who was shaking her head and smirking. "Are my eating habits that predictable?" she asked. "I feel like I should be offended over you ordering for me."

"I'd estimate that we have roughly twenty to thirty minutes before the waiter returns. And I'd rather not discuss the details of your next assignment whilst we're eating. So if you do decide to be offended, would you mind greatly if I asked you to wait till after our meal?" Mycroft asked with a sardonic smile.

At this Sandrine burst out laughing. Not many understood Mycroft's rather dry sense of humor, but Sandrine always managed to get the joke. Truthfully she was the only person he did joke around with.

Once her laughter subsided Mycroft proceeded to give her a brief rundown of her next objective. He marveled at the way her eyes lit up at the prospect of a new challenge. The bloody woman thrived on the dangerous situations he managed to come up with for her. It never ceased to amaze him how she could to live day to day doing what she did, yet still remain relatively carefree and blissful. He knew the job took some form of toll on most of his agents, yet Sandrine never seemed affected. He only hoped that she could keep her innocence intact. Even though innocence hardly seemed the correct word it fit nonetheless.

Shaking his head Mycroft, brushed aside that train of thought. "As always I leave the details up to you. You've never followed my directions anyway, I don't imagine this time would be any different." he finished. Just in time as well, since the waiter had now brought out their meals.

Unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap, Sandrine took a moment to contemplate the task ahead of her. "Mycroft, you always get me the best presents." she decided with a smile.

Turning to lighter conversation, the two finished their meal. Lingering over dessert, Sandrine turned the subject to Mycroft's brother. "How's Sherlock doing by the way?"

Looking pensive for a moment "As well as can be expected I suppose. The doctors have said it's going to take a while for his body to detoxify. I can only hope that once he's on the mend, he'll find a different form of stimulation. There has to be something that can keep him occupied and away from that disgusting habit." Mycroft replied.

"Well I have a few ideas on that score. Plus, I think you'll find once Sherlock is released from rehab he's going to have to find a new drug dealer."

"Yes, I had noticed the man had turned up dead. The police have written it off as a drug deal that went wrong. Your work I take it?" Mycroft asked.

"I do what I can. Consider it a late birthday present." Sandrine answered with a shrug. Truthfully she only wished she could do more. As little as Mycroft was willing to show it, he was still hurting over the path his brother had chosen. However, she knew that Mycroft wouldn't take lightly to her "interference" as he liked to call it. Due to his addiction combined with the nature of her work, Sandrine had never ben afforded the opportunity of meeting Mycroft's younger sibling. However, if she had her way about it she would have already threatened the man into toeing the line. But ultimately that would upset Mycroft even further, and Sandrine had no wish to make things worse for him. So she settled for taking out Sherlock's main source.

As their server took away the remnants of their Tiramisu and brought their check, Sandrine looked somberly at Mycroft, "You do realize though, this will be the last I see of you for a long while? We're going to have to keep communications to the bare minimum as well. How are you ever going to survive without me?"

"I have the utmost confidence I'll be able to handle life without you." Mycroft stated as he rose . "I also get the feeling that you'll manage to find ways to make my existence miserable as always, without actually being there."

"That sounds like a challenge Mycroft." Sandrine pulled on her coat, "Now I'm forced to think of something so you won't miss me too terribly." Giving Mycroft a light hug he didn't return, she kissed his cheek " Take care of yourself and I'll check in when I can." With no more to say, she walked out of the restaurant and into the busy streets of London.


	5. Planes, Plaints, and Plans

**A/N: Let me ****start off by thanking my amazing Beta: thischarmingpsychopath she has been absolutely wonderful. Thanks also to everyone who takes the time to read I hope you enjoy. And as always the usual disclaimer I don't own Sherlock et al. **

**Just to be on the safe side I'm going to put a trigger warning here for detox, and implied suicidal thoughts. Please skip over the second section if you wish to avoid. **

At an altitude of thirty-five thousand feet James was sitting in first class, mentally refining his plans for his newest account. China's Black Lotus Tong. They were looking to become one of his more lucrative business ventures.

Soon growing bored James's mind inevitably turned to the question of his mysterious sniper. His men had uncovered nothing more than a business card, courtesy of Arun, the Myanmar operative who had hired Moran in the first place.

Sebastian Moran

+44 20 7927 0909

sebmor

Appointment by referral only.

_The incompetent fools_, his mind spat. James refused to believe the man couldn't be found. No one was better than him. He would find Moran and the man would suffer. Of course, James wouldn't kill him. Anyone who could elude him for this long could prove to be useful. Besides, why break a new toy immediately after you've gotten it?

Opening his laptop, he set about drafting an email to the elusive Moran. After all if he couldn't go to the sniper he would bring the sniper to him.

A few hundred miles away, Sherlock Holmes thrashed about the hospital bed he was currently strapped to. His skin felt like it was on fire, and no amount of movement could put it out. He just needed one hit, just one, morphine, cocaine. "ANYTHING!" he screamed to the room. But there was no one there to hear his shouts. His body dripped in a fever induced sweat as it tried to expel the toxins that had taken up residence in his very cells.

Momentarily forgetting his restraints, he tried to curl up on his side. Sobbing now, he begged for release. Even death was better than this burning. "Please" he whispered, voice hoarse from the fruitless yelling. "Please, just make it stop." Finally, his body exhausted from battle, Sherlock drifted off into a fitful slumber. Even in dreams the fire seared his skin, making him toss and turn.

Mycroft watched as his brother finally got some much needed rest. The process of detoxing was unfortunately a long one. Shutting down his laptop, Mycroft contemplated Sandrine's parting email.

_Mikey, he needs a diversion. He's never going to give up the habit unless you distract him. He's like you and me. Boredom is not a good thing. As much as you dislike it, Sherlock is your intellectual equal. Don't shake your head at me, I can see you doing it. So stop it. Trick's going to be finding the right thing for him to latch onto. It may come down to switching one rush for another, but anything is better than the abuse he's putting himself through._

Considering the rest of the email irrelevant for the time being, Mycroft thought his way through the problem. The minutes passed as he discarded possible solutions. Finally it came to him.

Calling Anthea into his office, Mycroft began laying out the groundwork for what was soon to be his brother's new occupation.


	6. Cleaning, computers and code

**A/N: As always, many thanks go to my amazing Beta thischarmingpsychopath. Not only a great beta but an extremely talented writer. Take the time to check out her work, you won't be disappointed. Thanks also to those who read and decide to follow, I hope you enjoy. Oh and I don't own Sherlock et al. That honor belongs to Gatniss and Moffat who currently have them on loan from Anansi, who all stories belong to. **

Someone was in her room. _Why the hell do they even try?_ Rolling over to the side of her bed , Sandrine kept up a pretense of slumber. Even breathing, little movements of the leg. _One of these days people will come to the realization I dislike being woke up._ Slowly she reached for the gun hidden underneath her pillow. _Wonder what he? She? No tread's too heavy...he. Wonder what he's looking for. Hasn't made a move towards the bed yet...I'm not his primary objective. Good to know. Ahh. There we go. Bad boy. Going after my laptop is he? Tsk tsk tsk. Amateur._

Deciding enough was enough, Sandrine gripped her Firestar and rolled off the side of the hotel room bed. Coming up in a crouch, she used the bed as cover as she aimed for the thief who had the insolence to wake her up.

"So did you find what you were looking for?" she asked conversationally. "I really hope it was worth it to your employer. Who is your employer, by the way? I'd like to send my regards."

"I'll be sure to tell them, as you'll be _indisposed_ shall we say? " the thief said, his own gun trained on her forehead.

_Eyes on the midsection Rinee. Focus. You'll see it coming. There._

Even though her gun was fitted with a silencer, Sandrine heard the resounding gunshot like thunder had clapped in the room. Getting up, she went over to the now prone body of the thief. Crouching down, a quick examination told her all she needed to know. _Poorly fitted suit, low end material. Trying too hard to look professional weren't you? Suit also says you weren't expecting a struggle. Either misplaced overconfidence or you and your employer both believed the lie. Maybe a bit of both. No back up weapon. Gods you really were an amateur weren't you? That narrows things down considerably. _

Knowing there wasn't any possibility of sleep, Sandrine sighed as she got dressed. _Gods be damned, I'm gonna have to clear this little indiscretion up myself. Can't call Mycroft to have a team come in, that'll blow my cover. All I need is a few hours. I can take care of this mess, finish what I came here for and be on a flight back to London by midmorning tops. How in hell did they figure out they needed to send someone after my laptop anyway?_

Checking the room's peephole to make sure there was no one about, Sandrine exited the room and made her way to the staff supply closet at the end of the hall. Swiftly she gathered the items she required and headed back to her room. She needed to be done and out of the hotel before the world woke up. There wasn't much time to do what was needed, but there was enough.

Stripping the bed of it's blankets and sheets, she remade the bed before promptly unmaking it again. _Can't leave skin cells and hair for the police now can we? Only hope anything on the floor gets attributed to shoddy vacuuming by lazy maids. Wish I could risk the noise... oh well. _

Leaving the body where it lay she opened up her laptop and hacked into the hotel's computer network. Sifting through the computer code, she exchanged the information on file for her hotel room for one of her throw away aliases. _This whole venture better be worth this much effort. Does nobody understand how much effort it takes make up an entire life for someone who doesn't really exist? Hours. It takes hours, and now I have to sacrifice Carl Howard like he was a pawn. Requiescant in pace Carl._ At this point Sandrine realized she was whining but didn't really care. It was two o'clock in the damn morning, anyone would be, she rationalized.

Casting Carl to the four winds, Sandrine backed out of the hotel's registration and accessed the security mainframe. Planting a virus that would erase the last two week's footage was a matter of moments for her. All that was left was erasing all traces of her presence and breaking into the main office to procure the hard copy of the footage. Gathering up her clothing and personal items, she tossed them into her duffel bag.

Taking out cleaning supplies Sandrine quickly set to work wiping away her fingerprints, as well as any stray skin cells and hair follicles. Emptying out the trashcan she grabbed everything up and left her room for the last time.

Dropping the used bedding and cleaning supplies back off in the supply closet, Sandrine pulled out her burn phone and dialed the front desk. Making her way to the stair case she started heading down to the lobby as she dialed. The front desk answered on the third ring. "Hello this is the Sheraton. How may I be of service?"

She pitched her voice a few octaves higher as she spoke, and silently begged forgiveness for using the hysterical woman stereotype. "Oh thank goodness. The toilet is overflowing and it won't stop... You need to come up and fix this now. It just won't stop. It's completely ruined my things. Why won't it stop? You need to make it stop. The floor has like two inches of water on it, its heading into the bedroom. Make it stop."

"Ma'am I need you to calm down please. Just take a deep breath. Now what room are you in?"

"I'm sorry it's just really late and I've already had a really bad day. I'm Jenny Malcolms and I'm in room 704. Please can you come take care of this?"

"I'll be right up, with maintenance and we'll get you moved to a new room while we're at it. We'll get this sorted out for you. Don't worry, I'll also arrange for any clothing to be laundered. Give us about 5 min to arrange a new room for you and we'll be right up."

"Thank you so, so much. I'll start getting what's not ruined together." Hanging up Sandrine continued to make her way to the ground floor.

Peeking around the door and seeing the way was clear, Sandrine sprinted to the office door. Using the key card she had nicked the first day of her stay, she slipped into the room. Glancing around she found the surveillance equipment and took out the cd used to store the video feed. For good measure she took the last 7 day's discs as well. Knowing she didn't have much time left, Sandrine left the hotel and didn't look back.

Once she was outside of her rental car, which had been stowed a few city blocks away, Sandrine took out the battery and sim card of her cell. She made sure to crush all three underneath the heel of her boot until she was sure they were beyond redemption. Climbing into the dark blue Prius Sandrine pulled out of the parking garage and onto the city street. _Well that takes care of that. Now on to Crawford. Just get into her office, get what I came for, and get out. No time to leave a pointed message. As much as you want to, do the smart thing. Think about Mycroft. He'd be so disappointed._ At that thought Sandrine burst out laughing. While she and Mycroft never outright discussed her... extracurricular activities, she figured he knew. After all, she made no effort to hide them from him. _He would be disappointed though... at least by the directness of what I've got in mind. Mycroft has always been more subtle than me_.

This particular extracurricular activity had brought Sandrine to New York City after some sensitive documents that were in the possession of one Ann Crawford. Crawford, a CEO for Starcorp a company that was employed by the pentagon for various military research projects. She unfortunately had the audacity to be in an extramarital affair with one of the pentagon's top officials and blackmailing him.

Jackson Carter had hired Sandrine to destroy the compromising photos. Sandrine had applied as Crawford's personal assistant; read secretary. She had been living at the hotel for the last fortnight after being hired on, while she located the pics. Fairly easy in and of itself. Crawford kept the flash drive containing them in her desk drawer, not exactly the best hiding spot. No, what had taken her the two weeks was setting up a backdoor in the company's computer code. Sandrine's true objective was the information stored on Starcorp's hard drive.

The untimely arrival of the thief, meant only one thing. Crawford knew something was off. _Woman's smarter than I gave her credit for. That amateur was after my laptop. She's not sure it's me. Sent him for proof. Poor fool got more than he bargained for._

Shaking off her speculations, Sandrine pulled her car into Starcorp's parking garage. Pulling into a spot on the first level, she shut off the ignition and grabbed her security id from the glove compartment.

Taking her time she walked into the company's headquarters, flashing her id at the night security guard. "Gina, it's barely five in the morning what are you doing here so early?"

"Morning Phil." Sandrine answered with a faked yawn. "I left some paperwork unfinished when I left Friday... can't let Miss Crawford down. She's gonna need it for her meeting this afternoon. So I figured I'd come in early to get it taken care of."

Punctuating her speech with another faked yawn she continued "That and it'll get me out of here on time for my doctor's appointment later."

At this Phil chuckled, "Well when you put it that way. There's some fresh coffee in the break room, grab a cup before you start. You look about ready to fall over."

Smiling at the older man Sandrine told him, "Can't stand the stuff you know that. Quit trying to convert me. I'll pop over to Starbucks and get some tea after they open. They couldn't brew a decent cup if they were being held at gunpoint but I'm betting by that time I won't care."

Outright laughing now Phil waved her on "Can't blame me for trying. Just try not to fall asleep at your desk."

"Thanks Phil. Have a good day if I don't see you before you leave." Picking up her pace Sandrine hurried to her office, working quickly she pulled on her gloves and booted up the computer at her desk and started the program she had created that would download the information she needed. While the program did it's job, Sandrine took out her lock picks and went to work on Crawford's office door.

_Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. For someone who works for the government, and is blackmailing someone at the Pentagon, you really don't have very secure locks Ann._ Feeling the last cylinder click into place, Sandrine turned the handle and swung the door open. Heading to the mahogany desk, she pulled open the right drawer and grabbed Crawford's flash drive. _Gods. She doesn't even lock it up. This whole venture has been one big let down. BORING. Mycroft better like his present. When he gets it that is. Maybe I'll save it for Christmas._

Shaking her head, Sandrine went to check how far along the download was. _Three-quarters. Not bad, I'll have to work on it when I get some free time, see if I can't make it faster._ Satisfied with her progress, she headed back into Crawford's office. This time instead of riffling through desk drawers, she took a few precious minutes to embed a couple of lines of code on her soon to be former boss's personal computer. Code that made it so the next time the computer was booted up all of the company's research, as well as all of the security and personnel files, would be erased. _Gotta love the bigger companies, no hardcopy to worry about. Everything is saved on the internet or hard drive._

Back by her desk, Sandrine double checked to make sure there were no traces of her to be found while she waited. Growing bored she started spinning in her desk chair seeing how fast she could get it. She only stopped when she heard her computer ding, signaling that the program had run it's course. Grinning now, she proceeded to take apart the tower so she could retrieve the motherboard and the information stored within. After putting what little was left back together, Sandrine stuck her prize into her purse.

One last look to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything and Sandrine was heading back out the front doors with an "I can't believe I left the reports I took home behind. I'll be back in about thirty minutes Phil" to the slightly confused night watchman.

An hour and half later, Sandrine found herself sitting comfortably in one of Heathrow airport's Starbucks, sipping a horribly brewed tea waiting for her flight. Her laptop in front of her she pulled up one of her many email accounts. After jotting one out to Carter detailing the conditions of the return of the flash drive, she pulled up the inbox for another account. Sifting through them she came across one in particular that caught her attention.

_Well. Well. This makes things slightly easier. Looks like I won't have to hunt you down for Mycroft after all. You seem to have found me_. Perusing the contents, Sandrine made a few quick deductions that caused her to smirk._Trying to play cat and mouse with me are you? Isn't that cute. This is going to be fun._


End file.
